The Lasgalen Contract
by Faithful the Cat
Summary: In the industrial Fourth Age, a woman wonders about life, work and love. A Lord of the Rings AU.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: This AU assumes that Ea is another universe entirely and not an early history of our own. Arda has entered it's Industrial Era and many changes have been made to the society. The changes to the universe will be fleshed out in the progression of the story._

_Summary: In the industrial Fourth Age, a woman wonders about life, work and love. A Lord of the Rings AU._

The telephone pole was highlighted in the setting sun and she wondered if she would be paid overtime. Zone 51's technicians had been taken with the flu and hers was the nearest one. With more junctions to service, her team had taken longer to visit all of them and now, way past the close of business, she hoped that her requisition for overtime would be heeded instead of lost in the shuffle. She set one foot on the iron ladder and began to climb the wooden pole. With one ponderous step after ponderous step, she resisted the urge to look down at what would be an instantaneous and messy death. Reaching the halfway mark, she rested for a moment, looking around at the green and rocky hills of the countryside of South Ithilien. She muttered a prayer to Aulё for the footholds and another one to Yavanna for the integrity of the ground around the pole. The sun sank lower as she resumed her climb. She stopped for another moment to turn on her headlamp and put on her headphones. She finally reached the top and began to service the connections in the telephone line. The Gondor International Telephonic Communication line stretched across the entire country running alongside Rohan's EOHISEN railroad which wended its way from Minas Ithil to the Misty Mountains.

She continued to check the connections of the aptly named GITComm lines as the sun sank and the headphones spat Sindarin into her ears. Soon, she would be sent on to Eryn Lasgalen as a technology advisor. Negotiations with the Elves to continue the GITComm into the forest were required before any work could be completed. Her trade school Sindarin classes were many years old and if she wanted to get any respect, she at least had to look like she was trying.

She finished with her maintenance and began the careful descent down the pole. Her family had been known to the Gondor Telephonic Communication Company for a long time, providing technicians since the beginning of the company. Having graduated from trade school, she had easily obtained a position as a trainee technician. Some thirteen years later, she was a senior technician, a cushy job requiring weekly trips into the field instead of daily. And yet, she still serviced as many sections as her team. Tamarpân had constantly told her that an office was waiting in regional headquarters in Osgiliath and not here in the station house in southern Ithilien. She told him every time, she did better out in the field at some stuffy desk in the city. But now she was almost thirty and beginning to wonder if there was more to life then out in the sun by day and trekking back to the station house to fall asleep listening to the radio every night.

She stepped off the footholds in the starting twilight and walked to her downed bicycle. The nearest station house was some miles away and she would be riding for quite some time. She started off down the dirt path back to the station house. It was getting very dark. She looked left and right, the beam of her headlamp alighting on hills and patches of trees and brush. She wondered if the orc children her grandmother had told her about would suddenly jump out from the hidden brush and gnaw on her bones. The fourth age, as much as her 29 years of life had shown her, had been pretty peaceful. Her grandmother, having lived in the turbulence of the previous century had told her about the wild children dressed as orcs of old and attacking travelers to sacrifice them on the bloody alters to Morgoth, the Dark Power of the World. Her grandmother, white-faced, had whispered about how these sects were trying to release the dark Vala from his eternal prison beyond the Doors of Night.

Of course, thinking of these dark stories and scanning for flesh-eating orc children had distracted her long enough that she did not realize that she had drifted from the path. Nor did she notice the rather large rock that she was heading straight towards. As the front wheel made solid contact, she was flipped over the handlebars. Something crashed into her head, she saw stars and everything went dark.

She awoke, to a pounding headache and an aching torso. Gingerly, she sat up. She pulled out her pocket watch. Good. She had only been out for thirty minutes. Spending the night out here sunk in forced unconsciousness would definitely make her have to relieve her position on the Lasgalen contract. She slowly got up and limped around the rock to the overturned bicycle. It wasn't broken, but she was definitely in no state to ride. She limped her way back to the path, wheeling the bicycle along with her. The trek back to the station house would definitely take much longer now.

By the time she had gotten to Zone 51's station house, her head was pounding and both legs were shaking too hard to move for much longer. She dropped the bike outside and pushed open the metal door to the station house. Light from the overhead lamps greeted her and the warm, wood-scented air of the station house was a blessed relief. The ringing phone, however, was not. She limped over to the station phone and picked up the receiver, staring across into the mouth piece attached to the wall.

"Cal? Where the hell have you been?" Tam's voice on the other end sounded tinny over the receiver. "We thought you were just checking Section 5."

"I was, but then a rock picked a fight with my bike. You can guess who won."

"Is the bike okay?"

"I am fine, thanks for asking. I guess I should thank Aulё that my helmet was still on. Or should I be thanking Yavanna for sparing me a gruesome death?"

She could hear him talking to another of her team through the phone. "I bet she's concussed, she always talks theology when she's concussed."

"Did you call just because you were worried about me? How sweet."

"Whatever gave you that idea? No, your mother called. And you didn't pick up and she's spent the last three hours nagging me about your whereabouts."

"Ugh, I'll call her. She won't nag you after that. See you tomorrow."

"Hey, Cal?"

"What?"

"Don't go to bed with a concussion. Whatever would we do without our fearless leader to guide us?"

"Fall into the Void," she said and hung up.

First things first, she limped over to the small mess hall and raided the ice box for anything edible. Returning with cheese and some soft bread, all that her jostled teeth would take at the moment, she returned to the telephone and set all the consumables down on the small table next to it. She picked up the receiver and dialed.

"Hello?" A familiar feminine voice.

"Mother?"

"Calandir! Thank Tulkas you're safe, we thought something had happened to you." Tulkas? She must've not been all that worried or else she would have thanked Manwё or even Eru himself.

"Did you think I had been eaten by orc children?"

"What?"

"Never mind. What did you want to talk to me about?"

"That new Lasgalen contract. The company needs you in Minas Tirith by next week for the official pre-briefing. That leaves you about two days to make arrangements. Two days at the latest, Calandir."

"I will be there, mother, don't worry."

"And call me when you get there."

"Yes, I will. Goodbye, mother." She hung up.

The Lasgalen contract. Why would they need a pre-briefing? Did GITComm think she didn't know how to build and manage their precious telephone line? She gathered her bread and cheese and began shutting off lights in the station house. All the electricity she could possibly need was produced from the coal burning stove at the center of the station house. But there was no sense wasting it, even if the Moria dwarves insisted that a single stove could light a hundred houses for a hundred days without needing to be refilled. She stopped from her routine only to retrieve the old radio from its resting spot in the mess. She made her way to the bunks and sat down on the nearest one, plugging the radio into one of the flexible chords running from the stove. She munched on her sober meal, listening to the end of the South Ithilien news report. After the news report was part five out of twenty five of the Tale of Nine-Fingers and his Company of Princes. She settled down into bed and listened to Nine-Fingers charm the Elves of Lórien into giving his Company of Princes boats for the journey ahead. These stories were what she knew best, this one and the tales of Beren One-Hand. She hadn't much time for history in trade school. Besides, her teachers had always taught those stories with a sense of dubiousness, deciding to take the tales as allegory for concepts that laymen were too simple to truly grasp.

The program ended and gave way to a choir singing praises to Elbereth in four-part harmony. She relaxed and her thoughts turned deep. The future was unclear. Yes, there was the new Lasgalen contract, but what of after. Would she spend her entire life running out to maintenance the GITComm? And what of fifty years from now, when she would be too old and frail to climb the footholds to 15 meters above the ground? Was there more to life than work and sleep? _Don't go to sleep with a concussion._ The words echoed in her head. But she had checked on her foray into the washrooms. She wasn't concussed. That meant these were legitimate concerns, not the ravings of a concussed madwoman. And it was this thought that terrified her more.

Determined to make the most of her night, Nessa knew she would have to be traveling in a few days, she turned her attention back to the music from the radio, letting the songs to Elbereth lull her to sleep.

_Author's Note: Constructive criticism please, especially on setting and language. I try my best, but I am no linguist like the Professor. Any issues with the technology, I would be happy to discuss through private message._


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: This AU assumes that Ea is another universe entirely and not an early history of our own. Arda has entered it's Industrial Era and many changes have been made to the society. The changes to the universe will be fleshed out in the progression of the story._

She had been traveling all day. She had gotten up before dawn to travel to the EOHISEN railroad station in Zone 49. The distance being some 40 km from Zone 51's station house, she had raided the attached stable for a suitable horse. She had ridden the mare she found as far as Zone 50's station house to dispatch one her team to monitor station 51. By the time she dismounted at the GITComm Station 5, she had almost missed the 7:00 EOHISEN to Osgiliath. There were not many stops between Station 5 and Osgiliath, so she arrived at the Osgiliath Station around noon.

As the EOHISEN slowed to a stop, vendors assaulted the cars, shoving their wares high to the windows for the passengers to purchase. She looked down at the tray in front of her. The tray was piled high with colorful sacks filled with various meats and breads. She noticed the mark of Mandos on the side of the tray, glowering judgment on any who stole. Hunger clawed at her stomach, she had only brought a couple apples with her from Zone 51's station house. She leaned out the window, snatched up a bright green bag and dropped coins onto the tray with the other. Settling back in her seat, she unwrapped the green sack to reveal a meat and vegetable pastry, two little flatbreads and a new pack of cigarettes. She bit into the pastry and tasted the distinct, sweet flavor of horse. If a horse became too old or injured to continue, the meat could be sold. There was good eating on a horse. While horse was not a rich man's meal, it was filling and there were a multitude of spices and vegetables that could complement it. The two circular flatbreads next to the horse-meat pastry were stamped with a mallorn leaf. She smiled. This baker seemed to be one of the many who claimed to have obtained the recipe for the famed lembas of history. It need not be said that all of them tasted distinctly different. This baker seemed to have used both wheat flour and yeast, though she wondered if the lembas of legend had so much butter and sugar in them.

When she had finished eating, she shook the crumbs off the now-flat sack. She tucked the empty sack into her luggage and pulled out the little player and headphones. She settled the headphones over her ears, pressed play and searched for her matches as the player began with Lesson 12: Where Are You From? She thumbed open the new pack of cigarettes, tapped one out and lit it. The smoke tasted good and she felt herself relax. Traveling always made her nervous, the EOHISEN had a great track record, but it didn't take much to derail it. She did not hear him enter.

"Don't you know smoking kills?"

She looked up.

"Smithson."

"Echorillion. You're looking…good."

Vardamir Smithson was not only a sharply dressed man he was the best dressed on the train. His dark coat contrasted nicely with his white tunic. His boots were polished to a bright shine. He made her feel shabby in the only dress she owned.

"City life seems to have been treating you well."

"You didn't answer my question."

"I've been riding all day and trains make me nervous."

He frowned. "I could have sworn that your office was in the city."

"My door is in the city. My office never left the field."

"Of course." She could see him tallying up his feathers-in-cap and his black-marks. She could almost see the tally herself. She puffed at her cigarette and tried not to think about how much she detested him.

Vardamir Smithson was the most jealous man she had ever met. Jealous over something as stupid as the name she was born under. He hated that his surname was, in fact, Westron while hers was honest-to-Eru Sindarin. He hated that his family's roots were traced back to Rohan and that hers could be traced back to Númenor. He had no reason to hate. The family Smithson was wealthy and influential and Vardamir himself was best negotiator the company had. She watched the conductor change the sign from STATION 5 TO OSGILIATH to OSGILIATH TO MINAS TIRITH and inwardly sighed at the truth. Smithson would be accompanying her and the rest of the team to the Eryn Lasgalen project.

Lucky for her, her grim mood was swiftly broken by an addition to their party.

"Cal!"

"Túrost!" She broke into the first grin in what seemed like weeks. Túrost Penmeneladar strode towards her, looking for all the world as if he just stepped out of King Elessar's court.

"Túrost, what are you wearing?"

"Do you like it?" He spun slowly to show off each and every shining bit of thread adorning his courtly robe. "They are tailoring one specifically for each member of the Lasgalen team. Apparently the Eldar are rather particular about their ceremony."

"It looks great, T. I am sure not even the Eldar will have any problem with it." Behind him, she could see Vardamir beginning to turn red. If there was anything that Vardamir hated more than her surname, it was being ignored.

He glanced up at Vardamir as if only just now noticing his existence.

"Ahh, Smithson, perfect. We will have need of your charming personality." A disarmingly big grin split his handsome face. It was enough to soothe Vardamir's foaming and boiling anger.

"I will talk to you later, Cal. Got some more boxes from the office to load up. Smithson, why don't you come help me put together the briefing. I have so much sightseeing to do in Minas Tirith and I want to spend none of it working!"

He shook her hand before it devolved into a bear hug and strode off with Vardamir, one hand hooked around the other's shoulders, all while talking excitedly.

As he left, she could feel the smile droop and slide off her face. Her cheeks hurt. She sat back in her seat and lit another cigarette. Her last one had fallen to the floor in the shuffle of the hug and had gone out.

Túrost Penmeneladar had been a good friend from trade school. Rising up quickly in the ranks of the GITComm, he had established himself as team leader. He was especially known for managing even to get personalities like Vardamir Smithson to work well with the technicians and even the usually sullen construction crew. He was warm, charming and he was probably the only man she knew to ever get that excited by new clothes. He was also an old sweetheart.

She paused, muddled by the thought that had quietly sneaked behind the ever-vigilant lines of Ithilien tobacco. She wondered if it was a sign from beyond and then briefly considered which of the Valar governed over matters of the hearts of two people who hadn't seen each other for ten years. She shook her head and took another puff of the cigarette. A contract was not the time to rekindle an old flame. Especially an old flame who didn't even live in Ithilien. He consistently worked in the city, with people like Vardamir. Locked in old town Osgiliath around the old buildings where efficiency was lord and master, he had not contacted her in years. She wondered if he even remembered the feel of the wind through his hair as he climbed the telephone poles in the dawn light.

There was a whistle and a lurch. The EOHISEN was beginning to get underway. She stared out the window at the buildings. She probably wasn't going to be back in Ithilien for a while. An old chapter was closing and a new one was opening. She took a long breath and looked ahead towards Minas Tirith, towards Eryn Lasgalen, and towards the future.

_Author's Note: Constructive criticism please, especially on setting and language. I try my best, but I am no linguist like the Professor. Any issues with the technology, I would be happy to discuss through private message._


End file.
